


if you were a pair of boots, mi amor

by riva1argentica



Category: The Adventures of Puss in Boots (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Angst, F/M, Romance, Sweet Ginger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-19 15:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riva1argentica/pseuds/riva1argentica
Summary: Sino couldn’t grant her wish, but he does let time keep one page of their fairytale. In which Puss writes, Dulcinea reads, and what in San Lorenzo is that smarmy Guy Fox’s hairy red butt doing in their story?(My own take on S06E07: Like a Fox; spoilers for S06E13: And, Having Writ, Moves On.)





	1. how can words ever suffice

“And if love be madness, may I never find sanity again.”  
John Mark Green

With a frustrated groan, another crumpled parchment was thrown to the floor.

_Dulcinea._

Once upon a time, there was a lovesick cat named Puss in Boots.

_Dear Dulcinea…_

_I, Puss, in Boots, have finally succumbed to—_

_Dulcinea._

_My heart beats for…_

_Dulcinea._

_I…have…feelings, for—_

_No!_ Subtlety, please? That was no way to begin a letter. Puss immediately scrapped that latest input away, deeming it an unspeakable horror to any woman’s eyes when he threw it to the floor, an addition yet again to his wonderful collection of unspeakable horrors. Dipping the tip of his quill in a bottle of ink and grabbing a brand new piece of parchment, he began again—

_Sweetheart._

_My lady..._

_O, hairball of my heart!_

He could do this.

 _It is my utmost pleasure to inform you about this intrusive emotion that has gripped my heart and that_ you, _Dulcinea, are_ entirely _at fault—_

 _No!_ That was not romantic. _Have you forsaken me for good, Felina?_ He was supposed to be good at this!

_Dulcinea._

_My dearest friend..._

_Mi amor—_

No, no, _no!_ 'Mi amor'? _Really?_ That was the absolute last straw. What was he _thinking?_ Clearly, she did not feel the same way as he did about her—Dulcinea will be utterly repulsed. He crumpled what seemed like the thousandth paper and threw it far across the room. This so frustrated him to the bone. The gods of writing despised him, clearly having forbidden all the muses to come grace him with the right words whilst that despicable guy Guy practically _hoarded_ all their attention!

 _Tell me not, Felina_...had that fishy fox charmed the very muses themselves with his smarminess and bribed them to never come help him at all, even as Puss prayed for them to help him compose even just one presentable letter to the one friend he loved the dearest? While that Guy Fox dog thing seemed to write every poetic sentence with such enviable ease, spoken them with a deep accent of handsome confidence, woven all the details into one perfect glittering gown he dressed a giggling Dulcinea with, _everything_ that seemed to come from Puss in Boots’ own pen, on the other paw, seemed to sound so wrong—because no, Puss in Boots was a cat of action. Words can never be enough!

He let his paws run exasperatedly over his face before he landed face flat on his desk, setting all his wasted papers into flight and his bottle of ink rattling gently at the force.

 _Yet how true it is_ , his subconscious told him, reminding him of the painful fact that Guy Fox had so easily beguiled lovely Dulcinea from so far away with nothing but a book, _that the pen **is** mightier than a sword. _

He pushed himself up from his pathetic brooding. He was supposed to be the expert on this—the unrivalled professional! Yet look at him. He had degenerated into this mewling mess, unable to even come up with the right words to say. He had done romance before, had he not? So why was this one particular case so different?

Puss smiled to himself as the answer came to him as easily as does a heartbeat.

 _Perhaps_ , he thought wistfully to the listening air, _that is because she is different_.

She was… _different_.

All the years in his life, it was him who attracted the women with his blazing charm—for, truly, he thought with a chuckle, there was no heart that he cannot win. But Dulcinea…she is unlike any lady he had ever met. For once, he was rendered clueless in dealing with a lady, and this feeling of uncertainty and dwindling confidence was very new, very strange, very...uncomfortable. For no, she was not just any kind of ordinary cat lady he met in a cantina, danced with in a royal ball, rescued from imminent danger, became a hired partner in crime—instead, she was an adventure herself, impossible for any sane swashbuckling swordsman to so dare ignore. She was the light, the warmth, the star twinkling at him from oh so far away from his reach, and he was attracted to her like a moth was to a flame; and he knew not what to do with this peculiar feeling that had him so positively, _obsessively_ possessed.

She made him...not as self-centred as he had been in the past. She made him feel this peculiar fire around the insides of his chest area...she made him feel envious and possessive. He wanted to tell her all of these and more—yet whenever he groped in his mind for the words, everything simply seemed to escape him. He cannot possibly express this love that was too great for words. Nothing satisfied what he wanted to say. The empty page was a challenge that glared at him so arrogantly, mocking him for his lack of writerly talent.

But just then, a voice seemed to come awake from the deepest recesses of his mind, a wisdom unlocked and echoing at him, a muse having finally come down from the heavens to whisper into his ear:

What _do_ you want to tell her, Puss in Boots?

Do _you_ even know?

The question seemed to strike something from deep within him. The muscles on his shoulders released the tension he was not even aware he had been holding, and suddenly, Puss was overthrown by the insightful self-revelation.

What _do_ I want to tell her?

 _...that you have feelings for her_ , his muse whispered in his ear.

He sighed. _Alack, what poverty these writing muses bring forth._

Just as he was picking up his feathered leather hat to put it on his head did he suddenly hear a pair of voices bursting into joyous laughter. Puss looked out his window to see what all the fuss was about, only to see Dulcinea holding Guy Fox's paw as the both of them laughed up a storm. Puss fisted his own paws so tightly that it hurt, a sharp pang of jealousy breaking through his heart and making him bleed all over...but he could not feel resentful for long. A veil of silent resignation fell over his features and he let his paws fall limply at his side, a sigh escaping his lips as he did so.

Dulcinea was laughing, Guy Fox was laughing, the two of them so engulfed in their little bubble of fantasy and adventure.

How can he be so selfish when she looked so…happy?

Puss saw Guy whisper something in her ear that made her giggle like a teenage schoolgirl. The two of them sat on the bricked concrete of San Lorenzo's little fountain, the rush of water from behind them giving a nice accent to their little...dare he say it...romantic interactions. Dulcinea held a book in her lap, reading Guy Fox's own words of adventure to him, the disagreeable red fox listening to her with such unattractive googly eyes for her. The two seemed to enjoy each other's company so much, so comfortable with each other even though they had met just less than a couple of hours ago...and they did not even seem to tire with all this tedious storytelling! Puss even heard Dulcinea compliment him and feed that Guy Fox's already swollen ego:

“That part where you confronted her jealous suitors is so suspenseful, Guy! It was just my absolute _favourite!_ You write the scenes so well, Guy! Oh, and this is out of place, but I love love _love_ the metaphor about the sun-kissed palaces of the kingdom of Turvistan!” She was saying all of this in that high-pitched manner of hers, a clear indication that her enthusiasm about everything Guy Fox was shooting through the roof. “Oh, oh!” she then added, a lightbulb over her head, practically jumping up and down her seat and clapping her paws like an excited little child, “And is it really true that the king’s daughter, the princess of Turvistan, didn't marry any of her suitors because, well, you know…” Her voice fell to a conspiratorial whisper. “She fell deeply in love with you?”

Puss froze when he managed to catch her last words.

Guy laughed.

“Well, who can blame her?” replied Guy Fox in his honey-thick voice, accented with such kingliness that it commanded the very air to electrify, effectively pleasing Dulcinea with the music of his deep, handsome English baritone. “She has fallen for me, just as I have fallen for her! And how could I have not? She had an astounding wit, a skill with the sword, a way with the pen, and a unique, stardust beauty…”

When Guy neared his face to Dulcinea's and oh so nearly touched her chin with his gentle paw, Puss felt the familiar urge to punch that dog's face spike sharply from his stomach.

“…in her bright, blue eyes,” Guy breathed, dreamily, “shining like a pair of sapphire jewels.”

Dulcinea giggled as she shied away from his touch. Guy only smirked at her reaction, thoroughly pleased himself, but then sadness crossed his features as he continued his story.

“Alas,” said Guy with excessive remorse, pounding a paw onto his chest as if to hold his broken heart, “Lady Arsenia's royal duties bind her to her kingdom. Want as she might, she can never truly take my paw when I offered her the adventure of a lifetime. Her impoverished kingdom cannot allow their princess to marry someone who can offer her no title, no empire, no crown to her head. For what other treasure can a lowly adventurer offer to a princess…but adventure itself?”

Puss scoffed. What a loaded drivel.

The two settled in a solemn silence with nothing but the murmuring rush of the fountain water to fill the empty air, and just as Puss was about to close the windows of his room did he see Dulcinea suddenly inch closer to that smarmy Guy Fox.

“If I were her,” she said, her voice gentle, a smile on her face, her blue eyes lit with sincerity, “I would have taken the chance to be with you, Guy.”

Puss stepped back, outrageous.

_What?!_

At that, Guy immediately seemed to perk up from his melancholy, and he took Dulcinea's soft white paws in his own with gentle firmness, pulling them to his chest, an expectant look burning in his turquoise eyes.

“Really, Dulcinea? You would come...with me?”

“Mm-hmm!” was her immediate answer, and, with enthusiastic hurry, she flipped the pages of her Guy Fox book to point at a memorized line from the page, showing it to him when she finally spotted it. “Just like it says here in your book, see?” She cleared her throat as if preparing herself to recite a rhyme. Then—

Puss did not wait to hear what she had to say. He slammed the doors of his windows, effectively shutting them out from his earshot. He had had enough of that guy and his verbose fanfaronade. Once alone and finally in the company of silence, Puss sighed. He looked at his desk, at all the papers scattered about, at the pen waiting to be wielded.

He walked to his desk, sat on his chair, picked up the quill once again. He slipped another sheet of parchment paper in front of him from a stocked pile, and with great hesitance, rested the tip of his quill atop the sheet, a feather's breath away.

Until, finally, he poured his heart out into the paper, banishing his own insecurity for the moment whilst he thought about nothing else, not even himself, but her—unable to keep this overwhelming emotion of sadness and jealousy and love to himself for any longer.

 _Because Dulcinea_ , he wrote, _you are the hairball of my heart_.

~`.’~

_Earlier…_

Puss was pacing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth—and the San Lorenzans had begun to take notice of their usually loud and self-important town hero's silent, restless seething.

“What’s a matter, laddie?” a concerned Pajuna finally blurted, asking from behind the counter after she’d served Señor Igualdemontijo his order for dandelion-flavoured leche.

Puss waved her off. “It is nothing.”

“Oh, no no _no_. Something’s definitely the matter,” commented the Duchess, who was observing him from a table with her own meal of goat cheese.

“It is _nothing_ ,” insisted Puss, who did not stop from his thoughtful pacing.

“Ha!” snorted a derisive Señora Zapata, for once actually looking up from her romance novel to go pick on the cat she liked picking on the most. “Like anybody’s going to believe anything from _you_ , Puss in the Boots. Admit it! You are jealous of Guy Fox!”

The mention of that animal’s name struck him like a jolt of electricity and Puss was suddenly ramrod straight.

“What?! _Jealous?_ How many times should I tell you this, Señora? I am _not_ —“

“ _Suuuure_ you aren't, laddie,” patronized an exasperated Pajuna, who rolled her eyes as she went to the cupboard to return some newly-wiped cups to their respective shelves.

Puss looked at Pajuna with narrowed eyes. “The tone of your voice is mocking me, Pajuna Michelle.”

A glass shattered.

“What the—how did you—” There was a sudden panic in Pajuna’s eyes. “That's not my real name!”

“Just as I am not jealous!” riposted a triumphant Puss in Boots.

“Oh _really_ , Puss in the Boots?” challenged Señora Zapata, because oh, she was _so_ not done with him yet. “You are saying that you are _not_ jealous that Dulcinea's _finally_ decided to go on an adventure with that handsome and charming Guy Fox?”

“Exactamente, Señora—I am _not!_ ” Puss nearly screamed, angry that everybody seemed to agree that that guy Guy was handsome and charming when obviously, _he_ is the one who is more handsome and charming! “I am merely...concerned about Dulcinea’s well-being in the dirty, despicable, animalistic paws of that arrogant, unctuous show-off. Let a good friend worry about the welfare of his friend in _peace_ , will you? Good day!”

The Duchess was like, “Cough oh-she’s- _just_ -a-friend- _really?!_ cough.”

Puss was just about to stomp out of that godforsaken cantina when someone so rudely blocked his way.

“Oh, heya, Puss! Want me to buy you some leche?”

Puss growled under his breath and practically shoved the nuisance out of the way.

“Go bother someone else, Eames!”

“Awwww!” he pouted dejectedly. “Sigh. I just want to have friends....”

“Hey, Puss!” This time, it was Cleevil's voice interrupting his little silent anger parade. Code of honour compelled him to look to the side to see the goblin girl and all the other orphans gathered ‘round a table, looking at him expectantly. Cleevil held out her deck to him invitingly. “Wanna play a game of cards? I’ll even let you get a head start on this one! Eh? Eh?”

“Yeah!” assured Kid Pickles, “It’s gonna be loadsa fun!”

“And did you know that you will feel better if you take your mind off things for a while by playing a comforting game with friends?” asked Vina, trying to cheer him up a bit by being her usual, endearingly inquisitive self.

“Please say yes, Señor Puss!" said Esme, her eyes wide and trying to be _very_ compelling—Puss almost chuckled at the sight of the young child trying to imitate him.

“Please please pretty _pleeeaase_ , Puss?” Toby added, desperately.

The sharp angles of his eyebrows softened at the sight of the children, all looking at him expectantly. He then finally let that chuckle out from under his breath.

“Ah, well. You all honour me with your kind offer, dear children,” he told them graciously, tipping his hat to them and smiling sadly. “But I am afraid I must decline.”

There was a collective sigh of "Awww!" as the children were left to play on their own.

Puss’ nerves had just about calmed down a notch thanks to his little interaction with the children, but then suddenly his blood pressure burst up like a tidal wave and he had no choice but to choke on it when Artephius and Puss Dos had both snuck up from behind him, complete with hats and confetti and blowing horns.

_“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”_

Puss violently coughed on the now-strawberry-scented air, suffocating on the thick pink smoke that Artephius had just magically conjured out of nowhere.

 _“Artephius!_ ” choked Puss, fanning the thick, pink smoke away with his hat.

He then finally slammed a boot to the ground.

 _“_ Today is _not_ my birthday! _”_

The smile on the kind old mage dropped. “Oh, right. I just figured I had to do something to cheer you up. Because hey, if something’s wrong, you could always come talk to me, buddy!”

“Yes, and Señora Zapata can fly, can she not,” deadpanned Puss, who was aggressively dusting off the remaining strawberry dust from his fur.

“Gasp! Zapata can _fly?!_ ”

“Hello, cat whose grumpy face is also not my face!” greeted Puss Dos. He then peered into Puss’ face curiously, as if the grumpy frown he wore was a curious thing indeed. “Do you feel the wronged by the doings of someone?”

Puss’ irritation spiked once again. “I feel wronged by the doings of no one!” Pushing him away, “Now leave. Me. _Be!_ "

Miraculously, Artephius had the sense to just shrug it off and he returned to training his collared fish how to fetch a ball. But unfortunately, Puss Dos would never know a clue if it hit him in the face. He gasped, outrageous.

“Then who is this No One, cat whose grumpy face is also not my face, that I may avenge you!”

Ugh. “Truly, I am alright, Puss Dos. Now go and talk to inanimate objects. I am sure they miss your amiable company.”

“Okay!” Puss Dos obediently turned around. Smiled, waved, and greeted. “Hello, _mon chair!_ ”

Puss had just stepped through the cantina's doors with an exasperated sigh, finally relieved that no one was going to bother him now that he was outside to experience San Lorenzo's hot, mid-afternoon sun. Finally, some peace and quiet.

Or so he thought.

The powerful beat of the Sphinx's wings brought down heavy currents of dust and air as the winged cat landed in front of him with her usual lazy and casual demeanour. She was holding some sort of scroll in her paw.

“Like, hey bro,” came her bored greeting, “I flew all the way over here to tell you that I found some weird...scripture thingy in the middle of the desert, and I thought it was suspicious and some junk, and I was like, maybe I should show it to Puss in Boots, or whatever… _whoa._ ” She paused when her eyes finally took focus on the grumpy ginger cat in front of her, arms crossed and fur messily ruffled by the wind, a layer of dust caking the Corinthian leather of his hat. “Something the matter, dude?”

“El gasp. _Is_ something the _matter?_ ” echoed Puss in an exaggerated manner, his breaking point oh so _close_ to the edge, his self-control dangling dangerously by a thin thread. “Oh, nothing is the matter, Sphinx! _Nothing!_ Everything is just _perfect_. Now go and leave me in pea—”

“Good afternoon, Puss in Boots!” cut off Guy Fox, who was suddenly in front of him just as Puss had been about to go stomp his way off. Then the fox eyed him curiously, and is that...genuine concern gleaming in his eye? “My, you look out of sorts. Is everything mighty fine with you, old chap?”

And then Guy Fox landed a paw on his shoulder.

Puss gritted his teeth, forcing a distorted semblance of a smile on his strained face. How _dare_ this despicable foxy guy Guy act like the two of them were good old friends talking about the weather, after all he had done to steal Dulcinea away from San Lorenzo, from _him?_

“Also…” The fox’s beady black nose twitched as he sniffed the air. “Is that _strawberry_ I smell?”

Puss’ furious face fell flat onto a deadpan smile at that.

“Sí, sí, Señor Zorro, _old chap_.” With the deadly sarcasm dripping off from his voice, even Guy Fox had the sense to remove his paw from his shoulder, as if he sensing that Puss _probably_ didn't like him acting so familiarly after all. “ _Everything_ is mighty fine. Now...” Puss closed his eyes as if to compose himself.

“Get out.”

Then finally exploded.

“Of my _way!_ ”

And off he went, forcefully shouldering past the appalled fox as the booted swordsman angrily stomped his way off.

The Sphinx could only roll her eyes at the scene, thinking that maybe Puss just had a bad hair day. “Ugh. Typical. Let me guess...” She looked Guy Fox up and down with a lazy scrutiny before drawing a sensible conclusion. “Don’t tell me that he’s, like, jealous of you, isn’t he?”

A completely oblivious Guy Fox only cocked his head at the side at her suggestion. “Jealous?”

“ _Ugh_.” The Sphinx could only roll her eyes, thinking that _this_ one, on the other hand, was an idiot. “Anyway, just call me if you need me, or whatever. Your ugly voices are giving me wrinkles.”

And the winged cat took off, leaving an utterly confused Guy Fox in her gusty wake.

Just as Puss was stomping, though, Dulcinea came to greet him. “Oh, hello!” she said, face glowing as usual, but the warmth in her eyes dropped when Puss only gave her the cold shoulder, walking past her as if he had not heard her speak at all.

Dulcinea then worriedly called out after him.

“Um...Puss?”

It was an unexpected outburst.

 _But it_ _happened_ —

Puss turned, stomped his foot, seethed with his eyes—

Yelled at her.

“Are you _happy_ now, Dulcinea?!”

Dulcinea took a shocked step back, paw on her hammering heart, speechless and rendered frozen by the blaze in his green eyes.

For a moment, nobody said anything. The desert winds seemed to pick up and a bundle of tumbleweed came rolling by; the white clouds on the blue sky shifted, lightly eclipsing the hot, mid-afternoon sun. As the silence went on, Guy Fox tactfully hid his lips inside his mouth, locking the words in his mouth, not wanting to provoke anyone. Dulcinea, however…

She was confused, unable to completely process what had just suddenly happened.

She took a step to him.

_Puss?_

She wanted to ask. She wanted to _say_ his name, because right now she was afraid that their last day together would have to end this way—so bitterly and gruffly. She wanted to reach out, to touch his shoulder, to, for _once_ , have him speak the actual truth—

_Are you...alright?_

It was when seconds passed when Puss finally realized what he had just done.

“I…” He covered his eyes with a paw. He turned away, ashamed of himself. “I am sorry, I...I just need some time. To think this over. Alone.”

And then, doing all he could to avoid her eyes, he ran away, the soles of his leather boots thumping against the cobblestones.

She had the urge to go after him. _“Puss!”_

“Dulcinea.” The firm grip on her arm stopped her from her tracks, and she looked behind to see Guy holding her back. “I think…I think you should let him steam off.”

Well, she noticed. “Why?” she asked, confusion staining her features. “What’s the matter with him, why would he…? What were you two talking about anyway? Is he…”

Her voice shrank to a whisper when the thought crossed her mind.

“…mad at me?”

Guy Fox gasped like that was the most preposterous suggestion he had ever heard his entire life. “Nothing of the sort, my dear, why would you _think_ that? I can never imagine anybody in this world being angry at a maiden as lovely as you are!” Dulcinea was able to manage a smile at that little quip, and Guy was pleased to make her do so. But his features softened solemnly as he spoke his next words.

“I suspect, Dulcinea,” he said, turning his head to look at the direction where Puss had gone, “that he’s just…upset.”

She blinked. “Upset?”

“Of the fact that you’re going away on an adventure with none other than myself, of course.”

Dulcinea’s eyes widened at that. “He...is?”

“Who knows, who cares, right?” Guy shrugged. “No time to dwell on that now, my lady. The important thing is, you and I are going on an adventure!” He then smiled a dazzling smile at her. Like a true English gentleman, he offered her an arm. “Shall we go have some milk, then, before we continue our little tour around town?”

Dulcinea managed a nod, accepting his arm as she distractedly looked behind her, only to see a roll of tumbleweed tumbling by instead of a certain someone.

_But...I thought you wanted me to leave with Guy._

~`.’~

It was a couple of hours after midday, and Dulcinea and Guy Fox both had plenty of time to go drift off into a grand adventure of their own, exploring the depths and danger and magic of the fantastical literary world that was Guy Fox himself. It was every book lover's dream come true—and Dulcinea was savouring every moment with her favourite author, probably one who surpassed her respect for Miguela herself (who still hadn’t bothered answering any of her six hundred letters.) And so, the passionate reader and the eloquent author had begun their adventure aboard an imagined flying ship as they sat on San Lorenzo's little fountain, painting swords and dragons and eldritch witches into the air, conjuring mermaids and pirates and ogres and thunder gods with the mere power of a word. Dulcinea was lost in her own little bubble of a world, laughter freely erupting from her lips whenever her silver-tongued companion had something witty to say (“Well, Dulcinea. This particular fox is smart enough never to give up on the golden grapes—and the sweet promise they hold!”)

She hadn't been wrong when she said that seeing him in person would be the highlight of her life. She can’t remember ever having this much fun in her entire life—not even that time when Miguela so kindly let her in her shack to have a lovely conversation about rhymes and poetry and forced friendships. Everything about Guy Fox was _magic_.

The enthusiastic white feline was just flipping through the pages of one of her books from the bestselling non-fiction Crazy Like a Fox series, excited to show a calmly waiting Guy Fox a favourite line—it was something about adventure, and a princess, and taking her to see the world from far and wide.

“Just like it says here in your book, see?” she was saying, still flipping through the pages. The line had to be around here somewhere…aha! There it was! She triumphantly set the open book on Guy Fox's waiting lap, pointed a finger on a specific line, and, wanting to impress him, began to recite the lines from her opened heart with closed eyes—

But then the slamming of window doors suddenly interrupted her, making her startled heart skip a couple of beats.

The smile on Guy's face morphed into a frown at the noise that had their wonderful conversation so rudely disturbed.

“What was that all about?”

Dulcinea turned to follow Guy's gaze, then found herself staring at a pair of locked windows on the second floor of Pajuna's cantina. For a second, her mind could only draw a blank. But then suddenly, it finally crossed her—

_Was that…Puss' room?_

A second look confirmed _yes_. It was.

“Well then, now that the interruption is gone...where were we again, Dulcinea? You were about to recite to me the line about the princess of Turvistan, I believe?”

She wasn't listening. The bubble of a fake fantasy world she'd built for herself evaporated into the heat as her mind kept on repeating one single word, over and over and over—

_Puss._

Guy Fox was now looking at her curiously. “Uh...Dulcinea?”

 _Snap_ , thought Dulcinea to herself, completely oblivious to Guy's prodding, _this is all wrong_. _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ How dare she mindlessly have fun when she should be confronting what should be confronted? She was well aware that she'd been stalling. That she was distracting herself on purpose. That she was only doing this because she wanted some sort of escape, wishing she could run away from making a decision even if she was going to have to inevitably cross swords with it again, one way or the other.

Because even if she chose to go to this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of an adventure with _the_ Guy Fox, even if Puss himself wanted her to leave San Lorenzo for good, and even if…even if the two of them were no more than platonic friends…

He was still her friend.

He was _still_ her friend, and there was no reason for her to childishly avoid what needed to be confronted. 

So what was she _doing_ , spending her possibly last day in San Lorenzo with this fox she barely knew, instead of spending it with her dearest friend?

It was not until his paw had firmly yet gently grasped her shoulder that she was finally brought back to reality.

“Oh!” she said, startled.

“Dulcinea...” began the red fox, his blue eyes gleaming with concern, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, oh no! Nothing.” Dulcinea laughed sheepishly as she shied away from his touch and finally stood back up on her high-heeled boots. She pointed behind her. “Will you…excuse me for a moment, though? I'll be right back, I promise. I think I…have to go check on Puss.”

Guy arched a brow. “So that was the noise all about?”

“I don't know. Probably? He could be up to anything, you know.”

Guy considered the situation for a moment before eventually sighing in surrender. “I'd hate it for you to leave me out here all alone, but...oh well. If you must.”

She smiled at him graciously. “Thank you, Guy.”

The Englishman tipped his hat at her before shuffling away with a skilful set of acrobatics—probably to impress her further, making her giggle a bit as she watched him perform his antics. She waited until Guy went on his way to find the peace and quiet an author needs in order to write, and once he'd disappeared from her sight when he went to the orphans’ garden, Dulcinea ran from the cantina and across the plaza until she reached the shoe-shaped orphanage itself. With a conspiratorial glance from left and right, she stepped inside and closed the doors, a purposeful gleam in her bright blue eyes.

She had a swell idea that might cheer Puss up a bit.

Just thinking about it made her happy. 

~`.’~

After about half an hour of rummaging through her numerous chest of drawers and bookshelves, she’d finally found what she’d been looking for. She’d triumphantly erupted into a joyful squeal when she found it, even twirling around in place like a graceful dancer on a music box when she did, hugging it to her chest as tightly as she could.

Puss would be delighted to know that she still kept it around!

And so, gathering her skirts about her, she wasted no time. She finally emerged from the orphanage, the book in question held by her paws and clutched near to her heart. With the clopping of her high-heeled boots against the sunstruck cobblestones, she happily crossed the square until she finally reached her destination, where she then threw the wooden doors of the cantina out wide. No one but a few heads had bothered to give her their attention, and even they had to go return to their business—it didn’t matter. Paying them no mind, Dulcinea turned to the stairs and took the steps running, one unoccupied paw lifting her skirt so she wouldn't trip on the silken fabric. Finally, she reached the top, and she excitedly ran over to the door, knocking with a cheerful rhythm of—

_Knockety-knock-knock!_

She waited.

And tried again.

_Knockety-knock-knock!_

Still, there was no answer.

The confidence she'd had in her plan dwindled a bit. Dulcinea took a step closer to the door, nearing her ear to the wooden surface as if expecting that that way, she'd be able to hear an answer.

“Puss? Puss, it's Dulcinea.”

_Why isn't he answering?_

“Puss? Puss!” She leaned harder against the door, knocking firmer on its wooden surface. “Are you alright? Are you actually even in there? Because I...whoa!” Suddenly, she felt the weight of the world shifting, and she dropped the book to the floor in her panic, and before she hit the quickly-approaching ground, she managed to catch herself first—and then realized that she'd actually pushed the door open, and she'd tumbled right into his room.

His...empty room?

The first thing she observed was that it was too dimly lit for her taste. She ran across the floor to reach the windows and threw them out wide to let the sunlight stream in; she was blinded for a moment, but then when her vision cleared, the room had magically been transformed from sad and gloomy to bright and cheery. _There_ , she said to herself, smiling, _that's better!_

And so, Dulcinea walked to pick up her fallen book. But then, the writing on one peculiar parchment paper from far across the corner of the room managed to catch her attention first.

She saw only two words on it. _Dear Dulcinea._

She was suddenly gripped by morbid curiosity. Leaving her book lying on the floor, Dulcinea cautiously sauntered over to the parchment, making sure to look left and right as she did so. She didn't want anyone suddenly sneaking up on her and accusing her of sneaking into Puss' room! When she finally picked the half-crumpled paper from the floor, which had been, most likely, carelessly thrown to the ground, she uncrumpled it, the crunch of paper filling the silent air as she smoothened out the creases.

But then, after doing so, she realized that the paper really only had two words written on it— _Dear Dulcinea_ , written with a cursive, flowing handwriting on its upper left-hand corner.

Nothing more. She even flipped the parchment to check the back, but nope—still blank.

Dulcinea was confused. She approached Puss' desk, and found the situation very much the same—sheets of crumpled paper were scattered everywhere and each sheet was entirely blank, except for a form of greeting that was written at the upper left-hand corner.

Each salutation clearly addressed her.

Her mind had barely processed the fact that Puss was _maybe_ , frustratedly, _trying_ to write something, _anything_ about her, or _to_ her, or _for_ her, when suddenly—

“I have not given you the permission to come in, Dulcinea.”

Dulcinea whirled around in her heel, her heart in her throat, startled at the suddenness.

It was Puss, and he did not look pleased.

He stomped to her, snatched the crumpled paper from her paws. “And give me that!”

He shouldered past her and approached his desk, then began to work on gathering his scattered papers into one manageable document, not speaking another word as he went on about his business, working wordlessly as if there was no one else in the room.

His silence about the whole affair was unnerving her.

“Puss, I’m sorry,” she finally blurted, her body quite literally, physically incapable to hold this much guilt. “I didn't mean to sneak up in your room. I just accidentally—“

“Of course, of course,” he cut off, his voice surprisingly, suspiciously, deceptively...lenient? Kind? He turned from his work to look at her, a well-faked smile plastered on his face before lifting his hat from his head as if he was giving his respects to the Reina de España herself. “Good day to you. You must be so eager to go with that…Guy Fox thing for your grand adventure. I am so happy for you, Dulcinea! How I cannot wait for you to go have the greatest time of your life!”

_Sarcasm? Sincerity?_

She was frustrated, she realized. Puss was suddenly too difficult to read, and he was doing it on purpose.

So then, Puss suddenly seemed to be in an awful lot of hurry to throw her out of his room and be with the company of his privacy once again. He was now urging her out the door by gently pushing her on the shoulders, distracting her by babbling about the work he had to do here and the other work he had to do there, “So many works that I could not possibly count them all!”

Dulcinea realized that she was actually already standing _out_ of his room when he was just about to shut the door on her face.

“No, Puss, wait!” she blurted, stopping him just in the nick of time. When he looked at her patiently, Dulcinea wasted no time giving him the explanation he deserved. “Okay, um. The reason why I'm here. I…before I go out of town, with Guy Fox and all his adventuring, I…I…”

 _Out with it, Dulcinea._ She steadied herself, looked at him firmer in the eye.

“I wanted to spend some time with you. It's nowhere near bedtime, but the flowers could certainly use a story!”

 _There_ , she had him. His features had softened at her suggestion, and Dulcinea prayed so fervently for him to please please _please_ agree? “I would really be honoured if you came with me, Puss! So would you come with me for flower story time? We could even use the book you gave me! I’m sure you’d be delighted to know that—“

She was interrupted when he raised a paw to halt her, chuckling self-loathingly.

“Why not do it with your newfound friend instead? Go.” Puss had already turned away, stepped back to close the door. “I am busy at the moment.”

Dulcinea stepped forward, desperate.

“But—“

He shut the door.

~`.’~

He leaned against the door and wilted on it exhaustedly. He faced the ceiling, closed his eyes, and sighed.

“You…deserve to be happy, Dulcinea.”

He stayed like that for a moment or two before he was once again able to find strength in his bones and decided to stand. Puss pushed himself from the wooden door, walked across his room with a melancholic pace, approaching his desk as merry streams of sunlight poured from his, he observed, newly-opened window. Dulcinea must have thought that the darkness was too gloomy.

He ran a paw down his face at the ridiculous mess of a situation he found himself in. He fell into his chair and rested his elbows on his desk so he could slam his face into his paws. Thank Felina that he had written no more than a salutation in each of these papers—he could not imagine how repelled and revolted Dulcinea would be if she learned of his true feelings of loneliness and misery, of envy and possessiveness.

 _Felina_ , what has _happened_ to him and he had sunk to a level lower than that despicable fox? Puss in Boots, wallowing in his feelings of sorrow! This is unheard of!

He did not even realize that he had fallen asleep on his desk in such a bedraggled manner when a series of knocks came to his door, startling him back awake.

“Hey there, laddie?” It was Pajuna, and there was a hint of something in her voice, pitching her words on a higher note. Was it concern he heard? Worry? In his half-asleep daze, he could not be quite sure. He rubbed his eyes, yawned, stretched his arms in the air.

“—been in there for hours,” she was saying. “You alright, lad?”

“Yes, yes, I am alright,” he said, dismissively. Why did everybody seem so concerned for his well-being today? There was nothing wrong with him.

“ _Sure_ nothing's wrong with ya?” said Pajuna, carefully, slowly. “I mean, normally you'd be down there pesterin' me for more leche despite having nothin' to pay me with, but if you want to talk about something, just remember. You have good ol' Pajuna to listen to all yer troubles, Puss."

“I have no troubles,” he insisted. “I am just tired, that is all!”

 _Obviously_. She rolled her eyes, thinking to herself, _Oh,_ _why do I even try_. Pajuna's sigh was resigned. “If you say so, laddie. Oh, and by the way, I hope you haven't forgotten about the surprise going-away party?”

Puss sighed. How could he? That was the only thing running around his mind lately, the very reason why he had been troubled all day by the seemingly insurmountable monster of a challenge presented by a blank piece of parchment. Also, he could hear the faint laughter of the children from downstairs in the square, the busy hustling of the townspeople as they set up banners here and there, and Artephius practising a piece on his bagpipe for tomorrow's farewell surprise party for Dulcinea. All the background noise must have lulled him to sleep in the first place.

The truth just cannot seem to sink well into him. Dulcinea was leaving San Lorenzo, leaving _him_ , Puss in Boots, and _permanently_ , all in favour of that...that...

He sighed, his anger spent, conceding. He had not the energy left to fight it. He had already poured it all in the heavy parchment he felt weighing down on his head, having writ the words away without the burden of a doubtful thought, just blindly following the guidance of the wind wherever the beat of his heart bid it blow. And voila, in the end, he had been able to write something in tribute to Dulcinea—not a masterpiece, as he was not, he concedes, as fulsome in his way of words as Guy Fox was…but at least, it was _something_. However, though he had originally written it as a parting gift for Dulcinea’s surprise party, something seemed to be holding him back. Want as he might to show the work of his heart to her, read his poem to her, make his feelings known to her, he cannot.

He cannot possibly.

He retrieved the parchment of paper he had hidden from within his hat, and stared at his heartfelt, albeit a little clumsy, work of art.

 _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,_ said the first line of the poem he had written himself.

How can he ever have the courage to show this clumsy little poem to her?

“Puss?” came Pajuna's inquiry, and for a moment Puss was startled to realize that his friend was still outside, her question about Dulcinea's surprise party still hanging in the air. “You still there?”

“Yes,” he answered, “Thank you for your concern, Pajuna. And no,” he added with a little chuckle, “I have not forgotten about the little surprise party.”

“Oh. Okay then.” Pajuna suddenly seemed to have run out of words to say. “You got 'cher gift all ready for her tomorrow?”

He looked at the poem that occupied the entire page of the parchment. Never before had a lady sent him to a battle with nothing but a quill as his weapon, and the thought made him chuckle a bit.

Dulcinea really was a rare diamond.

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Pajuna sighed. “Good luck with it, lad.”

He heard the sound of her footsteps fade away into the distance as she climbed down the stairs. Pajuna's farewell words were like a pat on his shoulder—supportive, encouraging...sympathizing. Puss managed a smile to himself when he thought of it. Good old Pajuna; a true friend, that comradely cow.

Puss got up from his chair to look out the window. He was immediately greeted by the crisp, cool air of nightfall, and saw the sky painted with the roseate glow of sunset, shades of oranges and violets creating a gradient that was nothing short of magical—gracing humble little San Lorenzo with its majestic beauty. The usual laughter and hubbub went on down below as the townspeople rolled barrels to the side, swept brooms over the cobblestones, trundled carts and wagons, lifted banners with the words ‘Farewell, Dulcinea!’ into the air; the children, on the other hand, were busying themselves with making papier-mâché for the party hats to use tomorrow. This would have been a perfect day, he thought, as a touch of bitterness came back to harden his heart, if Dulcinea did not have to be gone the next day.

He took another look down at the parchment he held in his paws. Resignedly, he rolled it up and tucked it back into his hat where it belonged. He needed some alone time, somewhere quiet, somewhere he could think…or dwell. Preferably out in the desert where no one was bound to go sneak up on him.

However, as Puss stood onto the railing of his window, ready to jump out into the night, he spotted something lying on his floor, immediately stealing his attention.

_"...would you come with me for flower story time? We could even use the book you gave me!"_

Disbelief raw on his face, Puss jumped from the window and onto the floor to pick the fallen book from the ground. He used his paw to dust off the dirt.

He took a breath when he read the title, surprised that she had kept his little gift from what seemed so long ago, even after all this time.

It was the book of _Fancy Poetry_.


	2. if we are lost within the pages

“My darling, you are my poetry.”  
Nikita Gill

Once again, upon that moment in time, there was a cat named Dulcinea who loved the magic of words.  

“And so,” came a lovely voice from within San Lorenzo’s shoe-shaped orphanage, “with the power of a true love’s kiss, the prince had awakened Snow White from her deep slumber. He happily lifted her in his arms, the animals and dwarfs rejoicing. As the birds sang, the couple, bound by love, rode their stallions into the sunset, to a faraway castle…where they lived happily ever after.”

Dulcinea closed her book and smiled at the children. “The end!”

“Awww!” the children exclaimed collectively, after which they were quick to throw out their own words.

“I like the ending!” Esme was hugging her teddy close to her chest, giggling. “And Mister Cubbie likes the ending too!”

“Did you know that the story of Snow White actually happened in real life?” asked Vina.

“What?! No way!” said an outraged Kid Pickles, “The ending's too good to be true!”

Toby smirked mischievously when he spotted Kid Pickles wiping something from his eye. “Awww! Kid Pickles is crying, Kid Pickles is crying!” he sang, teasing him relentlessly.

“I ain't _crying_ , ya giant tub o’ talkin’ lard! There's just...pickle brine in my eye, that’s right!”

Dulcinea jumped down from her stool to calm the children down. “Alright, children, story time is over. Next on our list, we're going on an adventurous journey...through the fantastic world of the alphabet!”

There was a collective groan from the children after that momentous announcement. Dulcinea rolled her eyes fondly at them as she walked over to the blackboard. Well, a teacher was a teacher and she couldn't pamper the children all their lives, could she? She picked up a chalk and began to write the letter _A_ , drawing an apple afterwards beside it. As she worked on her learner-friendly visual aids, the children continued to grumble.

“Did you know that I enjoy listening to fairytales more than studying?” moaned Vina.

“Please just tell another story, Dulcinea!” pled Toby.

“Yeah!” cheered Esme, “Mister Cubbie likes a new story too!”

“Oh, I know!” Kid Pickles took a bite from his pickle, his eyes glowing with an idea. “How about you read us that cool poem you read us last night, Dulcinea? I'd sure like to hear it again!

At that, Dulcinea stopped, her chalk ending with a painful note to the ear when it scratched against the board, halfway through drawing a ball. She turned on her heel to look at Kid Pickles.

“What poem?”

Toby brightened. “Oh, I remember! Is that the one about a heartfelt narrator and a romantic adventure and a pair of boots and I ended up crying because it was so touching and oh-my- _gosh_ just too good to be _true?_ ”

Kid Pickles sent Toby a finger gun of affirmation. “Gotcha.”

Dulcinea was confused. “A what?”

“That poem you read us last night!” reminded Esme. “You know, about a pair of boots?”

Dulcinea laughed incredulously. Oh, the children and their antics, anything to get away from a lesson!

“But I don't remember Miguel A. Andante writing anything about boots.”

Kid Pickles rolled his eyes. “That Andante guy didn't write it, _duh_. The author's anonymous! Don't you _remember_ last night?”

She blinked. Well, come to think of it.                           

“I…”

“Childreeeeeen!” That was Señora Zapata, and all the children perked up at the sound of the woman's screams coming from out the safety of the orphanage. Truly, the terrors of the outside world. “ _Childreeeeeen!_ Come out here— _and fix up this mess!_ ”

Another collective groan.

“Ugh. Not again!”

“Kid Pickles…” Dulcinea crossed her arms in front of her chest scoldingly. “Now, now, children, what have I told you? You know how Señora Zapata dislikes mess. You should clean up all your toys after playing—“

“CHILDREN! _NOW!”_

“Awww.”

The children were grumbling under their breaths when they heavily lifted themselves up from the floor, groaning as if their bodies weighed a million tonnes. They marched out the door, trudging with their leaden feet, dreading the wrath of the one, the only, the Señora named Zapata.

Esme, however, quickly brightened when she perked, ran to the bookshelf, tiptoed to grab a book, and quickly ran over to Dulcinea to hand it to her.

“It's in there somewhere, written on parchment!” She giggled at Dulcinea's dumfounded reaction before she went and followed her friends outside.

A pensive look had fallen over Dulcinea's features as she thoughtfully examined the book cover. A book of...Fancy Poetry, it says.

Vina had popped her head back through the door to pitch one last question at her. “And did you know that the handwriting seems familiar to me somehow?”

 _“Vina!”_ snapped the Señora.

“Coming!”

Vina shut the door as she left, leaving Dulcinea in quiet solitude. She sighed after all the noise was gone. The pensive white feline took one more look at the book in her paws. And then she shrugged, thought _why not?_ She opened it, flipped through the pages, waiting for her memory to click. What _was_ that poem she'd read the children last night? Something about...boots? She honestly couldn't remember. She hoped that by leafing through the pages, something would spark at her memory…but so far, no luck. She had just been about to give up looking for it and just go write her lesson plan for the children this week, when suddenly—

A piece of old folded parchment fell from the pages, landing softly on the floor.

Dulcinea looked at it curiously for a moment. Then, shutting the book close, she bent down, picked it up, and unfolded it, smoothening out the creases first before she finally began to read the poem she couldn’t remember reading to the children last night.

And she was caught from the first word.

As she continued to read down the page, her heart raced, her body temperature rose, and soon enough the blood was pumping in her brain. She was enchanted, enthralled, spellbound—each word was like Cupid’s arrow cutting straight through her heart, because it was impassioned, heartfelt, and she _heard_ his voice, as if he himself was right beside her, once again, like nothing had changed; her eyes widened when each daunting realization, one after another, fell on her like a cast of magic. 

The rush of memories was too much—but she relished it. It gave her joy, it gave her shock, it gave her sadness and extreme delight, and she was too overcome by emotion that she had completely missed the last lines of the poem—for it didn’t matter. Suddenly, she had to go. Breathlessly, she gripped the parchment of paper tighter with her paw, and held it close to her chest, to her beating heart, as if, that way, the words themselves would be carved deep into her soul, so that never again shall she forget.

The thing is, it was already written there.

She was only finally remembering it now.

_How could she have forgotten it in the first place?!_

~`.’~

Dulcinea burst from the orphanage, immediately startling the children who were just beginning to go pick up the pieces of bricks they’ve been playing with earlier.

“Oh, hiya, Dulcinea!” greeted Kid Pickles, waving a bitten pickle in the air as he did so. “So d’you remember it now?”

He didn’t receive an answer, though, and he exchanged curious glances with Toby, Esme, and Vina as Dulcinea ran with such urgency, completely oblivious to their stares. The snow white cat was holding a piece of parchment with one paw and fisting at her silken lavender skirts with the other, running to the fences where she immediately untied a neighing horse from her restraints. The brown mare had probably seen the urgency in her eyes, so the horse knelt down the ground to let Dulcinea climb onto her back.

* * *

  _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,_  
then I shall be the El Gato they fear.  
For only you can inspire upon them such a terror  
with the legends and tall tales about you they hear!  
I would wear you at all times as a symbol of mine honor,  
and never shall they see another cat who can sneer  
at the demons of hell and dare dance with danger—  
for you shall be by my side, guiding me forever

_and ever._

* * *

Just as Dulcinea was about to giddy up her horse, though, Señora Zapata’s voice came piercing through the air, immediately yanking everybody’s eyes back to herself.

“ _Dulcineaaa!_ ” she screamed in her usual ill-tempered manner, marching over to the brown mare and the cat mounted on her back. The señora’s hands were on her hips, and she walked so haughtily as if she disdained the very earth she so mightily crawled over. “Where do you _think_ are you going? I am still going to send you to an errand to the thieves’ market, because I need you to buy fabric for me!”

“Errand, thieves’ market, fabric.” Dulcinea was in such a rush of thoughts, such a whirlwind of emotions, and she had no time to string together even just a single sentence. “No problem, Señora!”

* * *

  _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,_  
I would strut around with pride, boast your beauty and valor!  
How you fit my heart, my soul and my tenor  
when we sing into the night and the sky bursts aflutter—  
drawing butterflies to your voice, as dulcet as a flower.

* * *

Señora Zapata blinked at Dulcinea’s immediate acceptance of the task, obviously unused to being so easily obeyed.

“Wait,” she said suspiciously at the too-eager feline, who was getting herself ready to ride. “Where _are_ you going all of a sudden, Dulcinea?”

“The thieves’ market. For your errand, remember?” Her mouth was a grim slash of determination when she propelled her horse to giddy-up. _“Hyah!”_

And off she galloped away from San Lorenzo, leaving dust and confusion written on everyone else’s faces.

“Um…” said Toby, quite unsure how to interpret all this. “What just happened?”

Kid Pickles took a bite out of his pickle.

* * *

  _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,_  
they may mock at the dust that rests upon your leather.  
But, fear not!  
With my sword, they shall be the blood on our ledger  
for I will never let them scorn you, never, mi amor!  
I shall protect your purity, this, I swear by my honor—  
if only you knew  
of this love that soars!

* * *

 

Finally, after a good long ride through the hot Western Desert, Dulcinea reached the thieves’ market. She stilled her horse and her mare’s powerful gallops obediently and gently slowed to a stop, the clouds of dust trailing from behind finally settling back to the ground.

 _This is it_ , she thought, thinking of the _other_ first time the two of them met. Dulcinea closed her eyes, took a deep breath.

When she released it, she opened her eyes again, but this time with a newfound bravery. She urged her mare to trot forward. “Come on, girl,” she whispered to her ear when she noticed her hesitation, the brown horse clearly alarmed by the presence of too many thieves. “It’s going to be alright.” Dulcinea smiled at her comfortingly, placing a soft paw on the side of her horse’s face. “We’ll just have to…go look for a certain someone. Okay? For me, girl?”

Albeit still hesitantly, the mare finally acquiesced to her rider’s gentle request—but not without fondly nuzzling her first, making Dulcinea giggle a bit.

And so, the two of them slowly but surely began their venture into the thieves’ market. Naturally, they earned some gazes from a few curious thieves, but Dulcinea was very cautious not to rile any of them by trying to appear as casual and completely innocent as possible without having to blurt out that she had ‘ _so_ much money!’ (She had learned since that that wasn’t exactly the way to get thieves off her back.) Thankfully, the thieves had eventually become acquainted with her presence, assured that she meant no trouble by being here after all. They all went back to paying attention to their own businesses.

As horse and rider explored every corner and every alley of the cramped little market, however, Dulcinea feared that she was only going around in circles, never getting anywhere. And it didn’t help at all that every one of these masked thieves looked exactly alike!

She had no choice; she had to go ask someone. As she scanned her surroundings, she spotted the nearest approachable thief—one she actually recognized, the one who served leche from behind a counter.

“Oh, hello, hello!” she greeted in her usual manner of saying hello, hoping that her happy mood would serve her purposes later.

The thief turned his attention to her after having served a group of thieves their beverages. He curiously eyed the white cat mounted on a horse before shrugging it off, internally deciding that, in a world as crazy as this, nothing could weird him out anymore.

“And how may I help you, miss?” he asked kindly.

“Well, um, Mister Pablo, I, um…just wanted to ask you—“

“It’s _Raul_.”

“Oh, oh yes! Raul!”

His kind façade immediately sharpened into annoyance. “Go away if you’re not going to order something.”

“No, wait!”

Raul turned back around to face her. “ _What?_ ”

Dulcinea gulped at his sudden outburst. _Oh phooey, way to go_ not _riling up a thief_. “Well, I um…just wanted to ask you a quick question.” She laughed, hoping that would quell the tension, but it quickly transformed to a nervous chuckle when she realized that Raul was only narrowing his eyes at her. She stopped, regained her composure, and cleared her throat, getting back to the matter at hand. “Okay, so, anyway. Did you, by any chance, see Puss in Boots…around here somewhere?”

The thief leaned back and arched a brow at that.

“Who?”

“A ginger cat in shoes,” she was quick to supply. “He’s about this height, talks a lot, and wears a fancy leather hat with a yellow feather pinned on it. Ring any bells? Oh, and also he has a tendency to swing his sword around, and, you know…forget names. He also might have ordered some leche and not...well, pay for it.”

Her list of descriptions was enough to immediately clear the fog from Raul’s eyes, because then he snapped his black-gloved fingers into the air. “Oh, _that_ guy? The cat with the funny-looking boots?”

“Yes!” Dulcinea’s heart soared. “Yes, him! I’ve been looking all over for him! Do you know where he is? Where he went? Because I really very _really_ need to know!”

“Well…” Raul shrugged his broad shoulders. “First off, he actually paid his leche, so no problem with that. But I don’t actually know where he went. He left. Didn’t talk a lot. Actually, he seemed so…sad. Kept calling me Pajuna though. Ugh.” He rolled his eyes. “Crazy guy.”

Dulcinea blinked, suddenly lost, her enthusiasm shattered. “Excuse me. _What?_ ”

Raul was getting annoyed by her prodding. “I _said_ , he isn’t here—he _left_. Now go, lady, I have more orders to give!”

Dulcinea just sat on her mare’s back as she dumfoundedly watched Raul gather cups of alcohol on his tray before he went and served a table of eagerly waiting thieves.

Her breathing picked up pace and panic began to rise in her heart when she held her head in her paws. The reality was hitting her hard, block of ice after block of ice after another block of cold, hard ice.

No. He can’t actually have gone. He couldn’t have gone far. Maybe he’d just left—maybe she could still chase after him. He can’t be gone forever. He still has to be within her reach—he _had_ to. He can’t just be gone, he _can’t be…_

Her mare reached back to nuzzle Dulcinea, encouraging her out of her mini panic attack. Dulcinea was able to manage a smile at her sweet mare, and, gathering her wits about her once again, she heaved a breath, released it.

“You’re right, we have to get out of here, girl,” she gently whispered to her horse. Then, leaning forward, tightening her legs, and bracing herself for the wind through the desert—

_“Hyah!”_

* * *

  _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,_  
I would take you to adventures far and wide.  
Bring you to castles of giants and wonder,  
of danger galore—just the spice you like!  
We shall slay monsters, sail across the seven seas,  
sing songs into the night, cast magic upon the breeze,  
dance, and dance! on the heads of all the world’s thieves,  
travel ‘round the world...face a thousand bees!  
Never again, mi amor, shall they see me on my knees,  
because with you by my side, I am empowered

_by bravery!_

* * *

_…but you are naught but a fairytale._

* * *

“Puss!”

She was beginning to run out of hope.

_“Puss!”_

Night had already fallen upon the Western Desert, and the wintry winds were harsh upon the lone wanderer. She was freezing, she was out here all alone, she was hungry and thirsty and tired and lost in the middle of nowhere—she had been violently bucked off her mount hours ago when her anxious mare was startled by a bunch of passing thieves who managed to steal her from her rider. Dulcinea had angrily chased after them, but the thieves had been too fast, and her mare was too confused to fight for herself because she’d been flogged to obedience, galloping away with those rapscallions, and thus leaving Dulcinea alone.

Out here.

In the night.

In the cold desert.

In the middle of _nowhere_.

Screaming from her torn throat _for someone who can’t hear her anyway_.

Gathering up the final drops of strength she could muster up from deep within her, she let it loose in one, last, long, drawn-out call—

_“Puss!”_

The vast, cold desert and the apathetic starlit universe could only echo her cries back to her. Utterly spent, she fell to the sandy ground on her knees with a shivering breath.

“Puss,” she gasped, breathless.

Drops of tears dampened the desert sand.

“Where _are_ you?”

* * *

  _Naught but a fairytale, and you are lost in time._  
Lost in time, and my heart is with thine.  
It shatters my soul to think  
that never again shall I hear you rhyme  
as I listen intently, and draw strength from the words  
that strike my heart, like a perfect chord.  
I curse the cowardly choice I made,  
how I trapped myself within this cage.  
_A cage of misery, a cage of pain!_  
Felina, I beg you,  
can you let me keep a happy page?  
Even just a single one, that this sadness eternal be stayed.

* * *

And there, as the cold wind ruffled at her fur and blew at the soft, desert sand, she broke down into sobs, her paw clutching that lone piece of parchment close to her broken heart.

_“I…didn’t…write…that. Puss did.”_

_“Oh! Really? But…” She looks at Puss, her blue eyes bewildered. “I thought you wanted me to leave with Guy!”_

_For a moment, Puss avoids her eyes, unable to meet their penetrating richness. “I did not want to seem jealous,” he admits, and, finally embracing his feelings, he musters up the courage to look at her. “But the truth is, Dulcinea…”_

_He clenches his paws._

_“I never wanted you to go.”_

_She doesn’t speak, her heart skipping beats at his revelation. Then…_

_She takes a step closer to him._

_Smiles. “Neither did I.”_

“Dulcinea?”

Her ears twitched.

Her eyes widened.

Her grip tightened on that piece of parchment, held it closer to her chest. She slowly turned, hope soaring, holding her breath, thinking, _it can’t be…_

* * *

  _Because, mi amor,  
you whom my heart holds dear,_

* * *

…but it was.

There was an astonished look in his brilliant green eyes as he peered down at her in mild bewilderment from where he sat atop a nickering Babieca. The big, full moon shone brilliantly from behind him, casting shadows all over his form. Puss in Boots then jumped from his mount, landing smoothly down on the ground, and began to approach her, each step of his boots a sound of music Dulcinea thought she’d never be able to hear again.

“Dulcinea,” he said, his voice a mix of reprimand and worry, “what are you _doing_ out here?”

Dulcinea’s tear-filled eyes shone against the starlight when joy finally struck them. She pushed herself from the ground, and, laughter erupting from her throat, she ran to him, half-laughing and half-crying as she finally got to wring her arms around his neck in a bone-crushing hug.

_“Puss!”_

For a moment, Puss staggered against her weight, his breath stolen from him, shocked at this open display of emotion, shocked at his own spike of joy, shocked at everything that was happening.

“I thought…” Dulcinea had buried her head into his neck, her paws clutching at his shoulders. “I thought I’d never see you again, Puss! How could you just _leave?_ ”

He stood there, still absorbing all this shock. But finally, he gave in, raised his arms to hug her back, and let go of everything—of all doubts and insecurities and convoluted thoughts and just _poured_ himself, _all_ of himself, into to this one, precious moment like ink onto paper and emotion into tears and heart—

into another heart.

He whispered the name he never thought he would ever say again.

“Dulcinea.”

But once was not enough.

He wanted to say it, over and over and over, holding her tighter with each desperate whisper—

“Dulcinea, Dulcinea, _Dulcinea_ , I…”

The words were stuck like hairballs in his throat.

_I never wanted to leave, you know._

* * *

  _if you were real, and if you were here,_

* * *

Dulcinea responded to his call by breaking away from their little embrace and looking at him all too sweetly, as if nothing was wrong with the world.

“Yes, Puss?” she asked, like this was but a mere conversation between friends, like this was but a mere conversation _back then_.

Puss chuckled at her antics, scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck, and doing all he could to avoid those probing blue orbs because he would _not_ admit that his eyes were a little teary as well.

“I just…cannot believe you would actually go searching for me.”

“Why?” She took a step closer to him, hoping to chase away his insecurity, wanting him with the tone of her voice to _Stop, Puss…look at me. It’s just Dulcinea._ “Wouldn’t you want me to go out and…look for you?”

He seemed to hear her silent plea, because at that, he finally turned to look at her. He smiled softly at the pair of glittering blues that met him.

“Actually,” he began, slowly drawing out that single word as he reached down a paw to seize hers in between his own.

“I am glad that you did.”

At that, for a moment, she could say no word. Then, taking a soft inhale of breath, she closed her eyes, as if to keep her tears within.

“Me too, Puss. Me too.”

* * *

  _I implore you listen, because this, I swear—_

* * *

“Dulcinea…” She felt his paw graze softly at the side of her face, and she opened her eyes again to see a pair of intense greens under the shadow of the long sweep of his hat peering close to her. “There is no need for you to cry.”

Taking his words to heart, she rebelliously gulped down that lump in her throat and summoned her brightest smile. “You’re right. Why was I even crying again?” she said, laughing as she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her paw. In a second, she was back to her high-spirited self, clapping her hands happily as Puss laughed, clearly pleased at her enthusiasm.

“This is a wonderful moment!” she said, her voice its usual bubbly nature. “Oh! And also, that reminds me.” A smirk was dancing on her lips, and the mischievous gleam in her eyes made Puss feel like butterflies were doing gymnastic tango in his stomach.

“Of all things,” she finally said, pushing the parchment of folded paper she held in her paws to his chest, startling him for a moment, “you _thought_ to compare me with a pair of boots?”

Because, seriously. He could’ve used a rose, or the sky, or a will-o’-the-wisp as his poetic device like typical romancers do, but _boots?_ She thought he was supposed to be this romantic charmer. It wasn’t that she was complaining—it was that...

She was just really very _really_ curious of how he _really_ thought of her.

_Because...why, Puss? Why?_

_Why compare me to a pair of boots?_

Puss blinked at her, utterly lost. But only for a moment. Slowly but surely, realization dawned on him as he finally understood what she was talking about; and then, it was his own turn to smirk, his paw meeting hers on his chest as he took the parchment from her.

“Clearly, Dulcinea,” he said, a gleam in his suddenly frisky green eyes, “you have not yet read the last lines.”

Confusion wrote itself across her features after he’d said that. Puss’ gaze did not leave hers as he worked on unfolding the parchment and then handing it back to her. Dulcinea turned the paper over, skimmed over the stanzas until she reached the bottom—

And found that, indeed, she hadn’t finished reading it yet.

* * *

  _If you were a pair of boots, Dulcinea,  
you would complete me._

_Because I, Puss, in Boots, without you…_

_could never be._

* * *

A small breath of surprise came from her throat at once. She looked up to meet Puss’ suddenly bashful gaze.

“I…well.” There was a sort of embarrassed chuckle in his throat, as though her expectant eyes were enough to send him hurtling back into his own ball of insecurity. “I wrote it in hopes that I would get your attention off of that Guy Fox guy…creature…thing, but that is over with! Do you…like it?”

There was this incredulous look plastered across her face as if his question was the most ridiculous question ever asked. “ _Like_ it? I _love_ it!” She just about giggled at the relieved sigh that escaped his mouth at her assurance. Oh, good old Puss. There was a question lingering in her tongue though, and she looked at him curiously to ask him.

“Why didn’t you show this to me…back then, though? Because I don’t remember any…” She let it trail off.

Puss sighed, looked away. “I could never gather the courage.” He chuckled self-derisively. “I have written it as a parting gift to you when you were about to leave San Lorenzo to go to an adventure with that…Guy Fox. And so,” said he, “I just…hid it in your book of Fancy Poetry, in hopes that you would find it one day on your own.” He spread his arms out wide at her.

“And here we are.”

Dulcinea looked fondly down at the sweet little poem she held in her paws. Sure, it wasn’t perfect—it was Puss in Boots after all, but that was more than enough to make it the sweetest, loveliest poem she had ever read in her entire life. Because, to think that this was the work of his very own pen…

“I didn’t know you could write like this, Puss.”

Oh, was he quick to pounce on _that_. “You underestimate my skills?” he said in mock-indignation, “ _Ha!_ As much as I am a cat of action, I am also a romancer of words!”

She rolled her eyes. Even after everything that happened...

“ _Really?_ ”

“Eh…maybe not, then,” he surrendered. “In truth, when I wrote that, I…I was jealous. Gripped by the misery of never seeing you again. You are more than words, Dulcinea, and too much so for any pen to write—and it is because of your strikingly similar qualities to a hairball that I failed to articulate my heart’s deepest… _feelings_ …for you.” There, it was out. Out there in the open! “You liked Guy Fox’s writing so much, and for that I was threatened by such a lowlife of a competition! I was jealous. _Jealous!_ How far indeed I have fallen! But…how _did_ this happen?” Questions began to fill his eyes. “How could have that page possibly—how did _you_ possibly find—”

“Puss?” she interrupted, putting a finger on his mouth to halt him. She didn’t want the talk of time-travel paradoxes to go spoil their meeting. “Just stop talking. Dance with me?”

He still had so many things he wanted to say, still so bewildered at this sudden turn of events, but all it took was one look at the paw she offered him, and he dashed all his brain’s petty, unimportant thinking, throwing them out the window and closing off the entire world because suddenly, all that existed in this lone universe was him

and her.

And so, once he took her paw in his, the two lovers danced through the night as they were serenaded by the sweet song of the music of their beating hearts, guiding their slow steps, him twirling her around and her landing softly back at him. The cool desert wind blew and the hours flew by, a thousand stars scattered across the timeless, gleaming black serving witness to this rare unveiling of a pure and chaste romance. They danced the night away until the stars themselves had fallen to slumber, until their steps had slowed to a peaceful rhythm, until she had fallen asleep on his chest, a sweet smile dancing on her lips.

Puss took a breath at the glowing sight of her, Dulcinea awash with the canescent starlight, and he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch her cheek for fear of waking her from whatever wonderful dream she was having. The light of the rising dawn was fast approaching, and as he looked down at her sleeping form, he was well aware that he could make a choice—he could selfishly take her with him on all of his grand adventures, make her laugh for the rest of her life and shower her with all the happiness she deserved, and never let Sino find her and take her away from him again.

But alas, it could never be.

“Thank you, Great Mage, for letting us this one night.”

He was lucky that Sino had even allowed him this one last wish.

Suddenly, he felt a great presence materialize from behind him, as if a god from above had indeed heard his utterance of gratitude—though spoken with such misery. It was the Great Mage Sino himself, and there was sorrow in the old sage’s eyes as he looked down and observed how the love of these two could surpass even time itself.

“I am sorry, Puss in Boots,” was the only thing he could say, knowing fully well that he was to be the cause of the unreality of their star-crossed romance. “But even the power of the Arcanum cannot possibly repair the innumerable rips in time should I let Dulcinea come with you. She had lived in San Lorenzo for so long, that I fear…her sudden disappearance would cause inexhaustible change upon everyone she has influenced.” He turned away. “I could only allow you this one night and no more. This is the only way. If only I knew this would have to happen, I…” He looked away.

“I would have done things differently.”

Puss closed his eyes, keeping his sorrow within.

“No,” he then assured the mage, “This is…for the best.”

He hesitated.

Then, he bent down to kiss her cheek one last time.

~`.’~

She was startled awake.

“…wait, what? Was that a…” She looked around and found herself once again seated in the orphanage’s empty classroom, her disorientation slowly falling into place. She held her head in one paw, confused.

“Did I just… _dream_ that?” She couldn’t remember all of the details, of course, and the harder she tried to chase them, the faster they slipped from her reach until all that was left to her were the tiny remnants of that magical memory. All she knew was that, in her dream, she was in a rush of all different sorts of emotions, and there was dancing, and there was starlight, and there was _someone_ …

She looked down at the parchment of paper in her paws. _If you were a pair of boots, mi amor_ , said the first line—and she giggled as if she heard the soft caress of a voice speak the words right beside her very ear. She must have fallen asleep reading this. She remembered reading this over and over and over, memorizing every single word until, she thought to herself, she had fallen deep into the pages themselves.

She smiled. Only a brilliant writer could so yank a reader from reality with such grace and power, such passion and heartfelt emotion, and it made her wonder…

Who _could_ be the anonymous author? She wanted to know his name. She wanted to know his name! She wanted to _know_ his name, because seeing him in person could easily be the highlight of her life!

Humming a happy tune to herself, Dulcinea folded the parchment of paper and put it back within the pages of her book. She hugged the book of Fancy Poetry close to her chest and she stood from her chair so she could twirl around in place, before deciding she should go probably have some leche at Pajuna’s cantina—good heavens, she felt hungry! And what better way to accompany a good afternoon’s reading with a sweet glass of milk?

And so, there began Dulcinea’s fantasies of going out on adventures far and wide—her mind conjuring the strangely familiar image of a ginger, boot-clad hero by her side every time she read the poem to herself and indulged in an adventurous fantasy.

It was worth saying, though, that as Dulcinea drank her leche in Pajuna’s cantina that afternoon, Artephius had come from behind her, and said something very weird.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened, Dulcie.”

Dulcinea looked up from the tale she was reading to look at San Lorenzo’s special brand of bananas.

“What are you _talking_ about, Artephius?”

He saluted like a soldier called to attention. “I don’t know either!”


	3. of our unwritten fairytale

“One day, I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”  
Jack Kerouac

Once upon a time that never existed, Puss in Boots found Dulcinea sitting atop a boulder, flipping through the pages of her book, the bright, full silver moon casting upon her an angelic glow. Her back was turned to him, however, and how he craved to see her smile at him again—never in his entire life had he felt so entranced by a lady that made him want to shower her with all the happiness in the world!

He took a breath, closed his eyes. Calm, do not be nervous, he was only going to face his best friend. He took a step closer to her.

And spilled his guts.                                                               

“Buenas noches, Dulcinea.” He tipped her hat at her in greeting when she turned around to look at him.

“Oh, Puss!” she greeted, “Good evening to you too! What brings you here tonight?”

“Well, I…wanted to return this to you.” He revealed what he had been hiding from behind him. “You left your book of Fancy Poetry in my room earlier.”

There was a genuine gasp of surprise from her after that. “Oh, goodie! I was looking all over for it!” She reached down to Puss to grab her book back. “Thank you, Puss!”

As she put aside her other book and began to flip through the pages of Fancy Poetry instead, Puss in Boots just awkwardly stood there, until suddenly he cleared his throat.

“Yes?” said Dulcinea, who did not look up from her book, too lost in her own little bubble of fantasy as usual.

“Well, er…well. Now that Guy Fox is gone, Dulcinea…”

“Uh-huh?”

Oh, for the love of Felina—

_Man up!!_

“May I join you in flower story time?” he finally blurted, making Dulcinea pause from her busy leafing through pages to look down at him.

Her eyes widened as she realized what he was just asking.

“Really? You would…do that?”

He nodded.

“Yay! Of course, Puss, I’m sure the flowers would be delighted! Come sit!” She inched to the side to make room for him on the boulder she was sitting on, and Puss all too happily—skilfully, perhaps to impress her—leapt from the ground and landed gracefully on both boots right beside her. Dulcinea just rolled her eyes at his antics as Puss then proceeded to sit cross-legged beside her.

Dulcinea was just leafing through the pages of Fancy Poetry when she said, “I was just getting ready to begin our first story…the tale of Snow White! I can’t find it in the Compendium of Factes and Funne though, so I must’ve read it somewhere in this book instead…” And then she stopped short, looked at him. “You know Snow White, right?”

Puss proudly puffed his chest out. “Of course I do! I am literally a genius!”

“Do you mean _literary_ genius?”

“I meant what I said, Dulcinea, and I shall prove it to you,” said Puss in Boots, a mischievous glint now shining in his moonlit green eyes, ever the romancer. “Snow White is that one about the Evil Queen casting a spell of eternal slumber upon a princess’ eighteenth birthday when she shall have her finger pricked by a cursed spinning wheel, yes?”

Dulcinea was incredulous.“That’s Briar Rose, Puss. The Sleeping Beauty?”

“Ah, my bad. Then is it about the lovely maiden who left her glass slipper on a royal ball, and in the end triumphed over her evil stepsisters by winning over the handsome prince’s heart?”

“That one is _Cinderella_ , Puss!”

“Aha! Then it _must_ be about the beautiful lady cursed by the evil Rothbart to become a swan every time the light of the sun touches the earth!”

Dulcinea burst out laughing this time.

“That’s Odette from _Swan Lake!_ Seriously, Puss, you’re just messing up with me right now!”

“Puss in Boots shall do everything in his power to make the beautiful Snow White laugh—for she deserves _every_ happiness. And so goes, my dear flowers,” he said, “your first tale for the night.”

“Oh Puss, that’s not how it…oh.” And then her eyes widened, the wit of his words sending a pleasant shock through her.

“ _Oh_.”

And when Dulcinea giggled, a pure cup of happiness filled the now-hairball-less heart of Puss in Boots.

~`.’~

(If you were a pair of boots, mi amor,   
I would beg you choose me as your owner.  
I shall gladly take you in my paws and together  
we shall live our lives, adventuring forever—

Begin our story   
with a happily ever after.)

fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Sino sucks.
> 
> (1) Fancy Poetry is the title of the book Puss gave Dulcinea in S01E10: Sword. Shoutout to MysticFeathers who keeps catching all the references! ;)  
> (2) I hope everyone remembers as well that Dulcinea’s “favourite evening pastime [is] reading bedtime stories to the flowers of the garden” (spoken by Puss, S01E13: Star).   
> (3) Puss’ poem 'if you were a pair of boots, mi amor' was inspired by Rachel Swirsky’s award-winning short story entitled If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love. My brain was preoccupied with Puss/Dulcinea mushiness instead of paying attention to Lit class.  
> (4) “…this particular fox is smart enough never to give up on the golden grapes…”—refer to one of Aesop’s fables. I tried to be witty.   
> (5) Dulcinea’s name means sweetheart. That’s why I think it wouldn’t be too out of place for Puss to address her that. Dulcinea’s name was derived from the ladylove of Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra’s extremely chivalrous 16th-century character Don Quixote, Dulcinea del Toboso; in that context, I think Dulcinea’s name is very appropriate indeed. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading, and drop me a line before leaving? ;)


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